The Messy Truth Blog

From far away, I'm your typical middle-aged lady in socks and sandals, squinting to read the label on the bottle of antacid in aisle twelve in the supermarket. I might be someone's mom, someone's wife, even though I'm neither. You might think I'm unhappy because my...

Let me read it to you... For mixing blue and orangenot calling on her birthdayeating that second bowl For last autumn's leaves still ungathered in Mayexpired insurance policyletting the avocado spoil For waiting twelve years to get another eye examcat toys rolled too...

Let me read it to you... ​ All I ever wanted was this cup of coffee and the sound of those robins waking up the neighborhood, a sort of random day off with nothing better to do than finish that book, practice painting peonies for pages and pages, to gaze at this tabby...

Let me read it to you... ​ I feel like I owe you an explanation about why I'm wearing my hair in a ponytail for the 384th day in a row. But you know why. Maybe your own hair has been in a braid or under a cap, awaiting the day when hair matters again. I feel like I...

Let me read it to you... ​ I stand inside my slippers at the counter with a mug of coffee between my hands, swaying back and forth, mesmerized by the shadows of a maple tree dancing in sunbeams on the floor in front of me. The September light streams in on a cool...

Let me read it to you... ​The ephemeral nostalgia of the holidays makes way for January with its regularly scheduled programming, its sub-zero temperatures. I hear a voice from my past echo in my head, “Party’s over, girl. You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay...

Let me read it to you... Winter isn’t official until December 20-something, yet everything about the Minnesota sky in November moans winter. I had just left my dad’s place. We spent a few hours in the kitchen enjoying the fine art of making lefse. Potatoes, butter,...

Let me read it to you... I can’t help but love them, the dried-up old weeds in the neglected flowerbed that now look like furry little golden chipmunk tails, swaying in the autumn wind. I don’t know what they’re called. I only know I planned to slash them down, along...

Let me read it to you...   What is home but all the blankets bunched up at my feet by morning? I open one eye to see the cat sitting upright by the pillow, contemplating my eyelashes. Home is going to the bathroom together, straightening the rug in the hallway...

Let me read it to you...   What I hope is true is the worst of my peri-menopause is behind me and I’ll have an unremarkable transition. Shouldn’t it be true that the ones with the worst periods should have the most pleasant of menopauses? I hope it’s true...

Let me read it to you...   Everything begins with an idea.-Earl Nightingale   I have an idea… I have lots of ideas. Many of them come and go with no consequences at all. Some of them are good ideas and I just don’t have time for them. Some of them are...

Let me read it to you...   Go to college when your parents are willing to pay for it. You don't have to know how it will all turn out. Don't smoke - it's the worst. Listen, your mom loves you. She wants to protect you, wants better for you. Parenting is hard,...

Let me read it to you...   close your eyes be still and listen for the sound of your breathing feel the texture of things between your fingers put a little cocoa in your breakfast shake say yes to a second cup of coffee find the cat and copy what she’s doing nap...

Let me read it to you... I want to say something about depression. My depression. And saying something is opposite of what I normally want. I’d rather stay quiet. Let’s not wake the monster. But recently, the monster is awake and making its way through our...

Let me read it to you... Beginnings are sprouting everywhere, even in the most inhospitable places, even where I really don’t want them to, it seems. Every hour, a new thing appears where there were only dry leaves and dirt. And there are days when I want to begin...

April is here. And it's #napowrimo according to http://www.napowrimo.net/. Thirty poems in thirty days is the challenge. And if I'm going to succeed, I'll have to set aside any notion that I'll write final drafts of anything. Each day, I'll just reach in, grab a key...

Let me read it to you... When I think of why something might be locked up tight, I think it's because there’s something precious inside, something that simply cannot be allowed to be lost or stolen or damaged. A box of letters, a diamond ring, the deed to the farm. So...

Let me read it to you... I don’t have much to say. That’s how it begins most days. Should I write? I think how useless it is to write about the day – wake up, internet, eat, shower, work, eat some more, open mail, move around, fall back into bed. Why write about it?...

Let me read it to you... It doesn’t have to be beautiful. That’s what I tell myself on Tuesdays when I have to go back to work. My hair gets washed, but then wrangled into a slop-knot, soaking wet, on the back of my head. I exfoliate the face and slather on the...

Let me read it to you... I was still a smoker in 2005, the year I got married and was full of hope for the idea that there might be babies and new grandmas on the horizon. My mother had been begging me for years to quit, my husband somewhat passive aggressive about...

Let me read it to you... (inspired by Prayer In My Boot by Naomi Shihab Nye)   For the wind no one expected, the one that shook the autumn leaves free and for the man I saw raking leaves on that windy day, not at all looking frantic, looking quite zen as he...

Let me read it to you... **adult language     sassy gingham apron red tender love poem red rosacea on my cheeks and décolletage red dried chili pepper in a beaded glass jar red vintage smoking jacket in the back of my closet red faded cowgirl boots I just...

Let me read it to you...     a glimmer of words fireflies flickering flying above reach against a night sky competing with stars and a passing satellite   aimless dance of words they are here no, there to hold them in a jar is to keep them captive...

Let me read it to you...     My uncle said, “Play to win.” We were playing a card game and he was my partner. The room was filled with Marlboro and Tareyton, interrupted by occasional shouting, anger or elation. I was just seven but had to learn to play...

Let me read it to you...     the truth is the backyard ash shivers in the dark and every night hungers for morning sun   the truth is babies are born craving lullabies the baritone drum of a father’s voice and mama’s cool hand across the forehead  ...

Let me read it to you...   A piece of me once pirouetted in powder blue Lycra and legwarmers and pink satin pointe shoes. A piece of me once ‘Grooved Tonight’ and ‘Beat It’ and ‘Funkytowned,’ even won a retro Twist contest with a boy long gone. A piece of me ate...

Let me read it to you...   spool of thread neatly wound waiting to punch stitches through the layers make something of nothing marry the bits into one story, one foretelling snip off just enough not too long or you’ll get tangled needle’s eye a test of steadiness...

Let me read it to you...   (inspired by Anne Sexton’s poem, Courage)   I’m thinking of the moment after I wake but before I open my eyes I wonder if it will be a familiar scene the one I left the night before or if overnight the whole world has turned to...

  Let me read it to you...   I write because after the ride is over I will want to ride again, even though minutes ago I was making a deal with God to end it. I want to write letters to my future self, reminding me not to take that left turn or kiss that guy...

  Let me read it to you...   I don’t want to write about this because I don’t want to be known for this. I reject this. I don’t want to lament and complain and find more ways to describe an awful thing. I really just want this to be like a dream I cannot...

  Let me read it to you...   I stand in the backyard with my arms crossed holding my elbows. I turn my face to the sun, close my eyes, take in the smell of cut grass rising through the neighborhood. The hydrangeas are preparing to burst out with clouds of...

  Let me read it to you...   It’s funny how things are lost. The losing part seems to happen in secret, a prelude to the realization that something has gone missing. My job for instance. I didn’t exactly lose it, I gave it up. But because I hadn't given much...

  Let me read it to you...   I’m thinking of the dream. You know, the one we all have but maybe don’t want to claim or admit to. The one behind a red door, behind a locked gate. I’m not talking about the dream of survival, of just making it, of just getting...

  What I wanted most as a child was to be a grown-up, with all the adult privileges like staying up as late as possible, watching provocative movies on tv and drinking things that make you laugh and stumble. I remember one September day when I was twelve-ish, my...

  we enter separately   straight into the produce department compete for the freshest Honeycrisps thump the cantaloupes listening for the right kind of echo the right kind of response “Yes, I think this one harmonizes.”   Squaring myself, I clench the...

  Let's start here in a house that is ready for company. Here, the dust bunnies that hide under furniture are wrangled, 800 thread count sheets ready to stretch out over a sofa sleeper. Here, the sidewalk is swept and I wonder if I might plant pansies or petunias...

  Spring means the wlllows in the park are starting to weep. I stop and look up and let nostalgia settle on me. I remember things. I remember reading my mom to sleep at night. Wednesdays we ate pork chops and au gratin potatoes. Summer trips to the lake, we'd...

  Let's not resist it any longer. I want to go down the drain with you where things are hairy and sticky and mysterious and stinky. I want to grab your hand and show you how thrilling it is to go winding down the twists and turns sludge on your hands, breath...